Tainted
by AnimeMew
Summary: When did it all go wrong? Why did it all have to change? Four individuals of South Park have given up trying. These four live for the pain and misery of others. These four rule the entire vicinity of Park High. This is their story, welcome to Hell.


Tainted

It was a normal day for the students of Park High school; they went to their classes as usual and went about their day. Their daily routine was not to be, however, because just then the doors of the school were slammed open, and the ruling Punks of the school all strutted through the open doors.

Some students stopped in their places, gazing at the other students' arrogant tardiness. Dark attire, multiple piercings, and smoke followed in their wake. A few tangled wisps of blonde hair fluttered through the halls. Snapping out of their daze, the students once again began their usual routine.

However, one of the Punks stopped, an annoyed grimace on his face. He looked around until his eyes settled on a figure, a cool, hard smirk hardening on his face. He had spotted who he was looking for.

"Cartman, showing your ugly face around school again huh? I thought we drove you out of town."

Cartman stiffened at the words, and though he wasn't looking at the Punk, he could almost taste the smirk in his tone.

"Aye! You can't run me out of town! I have just as much of a right to stay here as you f-FAGS!"

The Punk smirked again, hearing the stutter.

"Awwww, now now, ERIC."

His grin broadened as the large boy flinched at his own name. He had always hated that name, and only two people had ever called him that anyway. He looked around the halls, trying to spot a friend to help get him away from the Punk. Sadly, nobody would ever go out of their way for Eric Theodore Cartman. Leaning in closer, the Punk continued, this time whispering in Cartman's ear.

"I wouldn't pick a fight with me, unless you want, _you-know-what_, to get out. Hmmm?"

Cartman sighed, his eyes dropping to the floor in defeat. He knew he couldn't win against the Punk. It had been like this for quite some time now. He made _one mistake_ and now he was trapped. He wondered how it had all gone so wrong, and how out of _all_ the people to have one over on him, it had to be HIM.

"Fine Butters, I'll do whatever you want…"

Leopold Butters Stotch clapped his hands in mock joy, a sadistic smile gracing his pierced face. His hair had darkened significantly and he was no longer the cheery blonde he was back in fourth grade,;he now bore dark clothing, much darker than was ever thought possible of him. On his arms were long striped arm gloves, and adorning his neck was a black choker with 'x' patterns. His left eye still bore the scar he had earned during the 'Ninja Star' incident. None of the boys in his class could ever really look at him now without feeling a little guilty.

"Oh golly gee! _Thanks_ Eric!"

Though the words were something anyone would have expected from Butters (had he been around seven years younger) they were dripping with venom and bitterness. Cartman shivered and, hanging his head, trudged on to class.

Butters cackled behind him, and then glared at all of the lingering students.

"Did I say you could watch? Get the hell out of here!"

His snarl was all the remaining students needed, and they all scampered away to their classes.

A satisfied grunt was heard from Butters, as he leisurely strolled to his next class.

"Chaos" had arrived in the halls of Park High.

* * *

The self-proclaimed 'second in command' of the Punk group trudged to his next class, groaning and cursing as he went. He knew he should have stayed in bed this morning. He removed his stylish black beanie to run a hand through his messy blonde hair, and then readjusted his hat distractedly.

Most people knew to avoid him, after all he was one of the most dangerous of the whole group, but one little freshman wasn't looking where he was running and, as a result, crashed into him. This slip-up ended up sending the Punk flying across the hall and crashing into a nearby locker.

"Gah! I'm soooo sorry I didn't mean to­­–

The freshman stopped, eyes wide and gaping, as he realized just whom he had bumped into. He gasped loudly, his shocked eyes starting to tear up, and effectively fog up his large glasses.

The Punk in question glared fiercely at the freshman, standing up and calmly brushing himself off with a practiced poise, his slender body straightening itself out again. On his body was a simple black tee and faded baggy jeans. Around his neck was a plain black cross, which he fiddled with as he continued to seethe.

"What the hell is wrong with you, dumbass! Look where you walk! Did you even THINK about the consequences of running into someone? You could have seriously injured them, or even yourself! You know what I mean?"

The polished British accent flowed through the Punks' lips, but although the finishing words seemed kind, the voice speaking them was cold and dull, apathetic of the well being of the poor freshman.

"Now, have you harmed yourself in any way?"

The freshman gulped and shook his poofy, red head 'no'. He feared what the Punk would do to him now: it was only a matter of time until he snapped. The Punk simply smiled, causing the freshman to relax slightly, reminded of what used to be.

"Well then, I suppose that's a good thing…"

Suddenly, the Punk had slammed the poor freshman against a nearby locker, a crazed and hungry look in his eyes.

"…Because now I get to hurt you instead."

His smile was now cold and bitter, his accented words dripping with the joy of causing pain. He hadn't had this much fun in a long time, and it was just in time too. He had been having a bad day after all. His wrists were covered with black wristbands, effectively hiding the trouble he had faced this morning. Those same wrists were now holding the freshman in place.

"P-please P-Pip…..I-I d-didn't m-mean t-to!"

Philip Pip Pirrup flipped a piece of blonde hair out of his face and snarled at the freshman, slamming a hand right next to the boy's ear.

"Next time look before you decide to slam into somebody, got it!?"

He slowly peeled his body away from the poor boy's and gracefully retrieved his books, grumbling as he went. The saw no point in earning himself another suspension this early in the morning, and he could always resume this fight again after school. The freshman looked on in awe as he watched the retreating figure, marching along to the dull melody of the late bell.

As if he just realized it, the boy hurriedly grabbed his belongings and sprinted to class as well, thankful to have been spared Pip's morning wrath.

"The Imp" had already planted his seeds of mischief.

* * *

All the students stared in their psychology class, the third Punk had shown up for school today. The sound of an iPod was heard all around the classroom, but nobody was brave enough to tell him to put it away.

_I've felt this way before…_

_So insecure!_

Suddenly, a brave soul marched up to the Punk's desk, an irked expression marring her otherwise friendly face.

"Hey! Could you turn that down, I'm trying to study!"

Several gasps were heard throughout the room as Wendy glared steadily at the Punk. Slowly, the Punk pulled the headphones out of his messy blonde hair; a little shake soon followed the action.

"Hello Wendy, nnng,…what can I do for you?"

The music was still blaring loudly, and Wendy glared at the headphones.

"I just want to study in this class so I can get a good grade!"

Her shrill voice hadn't lessened much over the years, and apparently neither had her ability to always speak her mind. The Punk laughed at her, little twitches invading his entire body.

"Really now? You want to get a good grade so you can work for the system huh?"

Small hysterical giggles escaped his quivering face, a crazed expression clouding his eyes.

"You know what they do to people that work there right? Hmmnnngh."

Wendy looked down at the ground, glaring more.

"No Tweek, I don't."

Tweek Tweak burst into hysterical laughter; his twitching, previously controlled by the music which was snuggly fit inside his black jacket pocket, was now bursting out in full force. Before continuing, he reached for the black and grey thermos tied around his neck. Opening it, he took a long gulp of the black coffee, instantly calming his nerves again for the time being. His slightly ripped coat remained, once again, unbuttoned, as he had given up that nonsense years ago. The grey shirt underneath was crumpled and in desperate need of ironing. His black pants were tight, but not too tight and that was just the way he liked it. Unlike his friends, he had no piercings at all; this was simple: he feared any needle going into is body. 'The Man' could have infected the damn thing for all he knew.

Slightly shaking, he looked back up at Wendy with quivering, insane eyes. He knew she was challenging him, well she'd get a challenge then, oh yes she would. All the thoughts swarmed into his head as he carefully chose the ones to say.

Getting really close to Wendy, so that his coffee flavored breath was on her neck, he rocked slightly, with an almost drunken look, and spoke.

"Well Wendy, they use you and they corrupt you. Soon you lose yourself and have no idea who you are anymore."

Giggling slightly he continued.

"They take you away for days and days and you never see your family again with all the work you have to do. And all the while they're breathing down you neck…"

He breathed on her neck, causing her to shiver.

"… and telling you what choices you're allowed make, how to live your life, and what your worth is. The sad part is that if you get too different then they_ ngggh_ they drop you, and you will have NOTHING GAH! Nothing left!"

He took another long gulp of his coffee, his nerves coming back.

"And you, Wendy Testaburger, will be a shell of your former self. You will be nothing, and nobody will care. You'll live your life for them until you have nothing left of you, and when they drop you, and I mean when…"

He stared at her, drinking in her anguished expression like coffee.

"… you'll realize that you've wasted your whole like for some unworthy cause, you'll realize that–_Nnng_–you're an old, bitter, lonely woman with nobody left with you to care."

Wendy's lip quivered slightly as she stared at Tweek; her horrified expression filled him with joy, and he took another gulp of coffee.

"So go ahead and learn Wendy, I guess I'll just turn off my music now…"

"NO!"

Tweek looked over to her, raising an eyebrow. Wendy looked to the floor, red in the face from embarrassment.

"I-I mean…never mind, it's okay now….I don't…don't care a-anymore…."

With that, she turned and fled back to her desk.

Tweek chuckled to himself and placed his headphones back on his ears.

"Too easy…"

"Paranoia" was spreading through the school, devouring weak minds in his wake.

* * *

The last bell had rung throughout the classes and students were now rushing to the Cafeteria, eager for some much needed social time. The room was bustling with activity, and thankfully no food had been thrown at anyone, yet.

All seemed normal, except for three boys who were not joining in with the excitement.

The large one, Eric Cartman stared deeply into his bag of Cheesey Poofs, sighing loudly and scratching the top of his brown mop of hair.

"Why didn't we do something to stop all of this…."

His mumbling thoughts were hardly heard over the roar of the other students. His two friends however, heard him perfectly clearly. The red head spoke up first, nearly whispering himself.

"I-I know…I never…never thought uhm…"

He couldn't finish his thought though, because his face was slowly growing a deep red. Almost as instantly, his eyes had darted to the floor.

The other friend, sporting a black 'emo' cut held out a hand to his friend, signaling that he had said nothing wrong. The red head smiled slightly, but kept his head down. Cartman's eyes softened a bit then hardened in an instant. All this was THEIR fault. Those Punks had ruined everything.

"Kahl, hey it's okay. You don't need to act like this, I know you're more stubborn than this." He scoffed a bit.

The raven-haired teen glared slightly at Cartman, but shook his head after a moment. He recognized what their friend was trying to do, in the only way he knew how. Kyle Broflovski however didn't flare up at his plump friend like he used to. Instead he stared blankly at the floor, lip quivering.

Cartman looked away, he was sick of all of this. Despite what he had said about the Jew in the past, he never really hated the boy. He was the only one who could really challenge him, and now he was reduced to a shell of his former self.

_And it's all because of those backstabbers…_

He shook his head, looking at his dark haired friend now.

"You know, he threatened me again Stan…"

Stanley Marsh looked up from Kyle, and gave Cartman a sympathetic look.

"Gee that blows dude. Anything I can do?"

Cartman simply shook his head, sighing again. He had seen Kyle stiffen and he was sick of this.

"I think someone needs to talk to them…"

Cartman looked up at Stan in shock.

"You serious dude? Don't you remember what happened last time!?'

His eyes flickered to Kyle for a fraction of a second, and then darted back to Stan in mild panic. To say he had learned to appreciate his friends now had to be an understatement. There was no way he was about to lose any more friends than he already had thanks to his damn pride.

"I'm Super Cereal dude."

Out of the corner of his eye, he swore he saw Kyle smile.

"I guess I can't stop you Stan….but just…..don't let it get out of hand. RUN if it gets out of hand, okay?"

Stan merely smiled at his friend, getting out of his chair.

"Sure thing dude" He turned and looked at Kyle now, who was gripping his shirt like his life depended on it. "Kyle, you know I can handle this, unlike you I'm not above leaving when it gets too extreme."

He smiled brightly at Kyle, and it shocked Kyle just enough to loosen his grip. Stan took his chance and slipped away silently, but not before he ruffled his friends tamed Jew-fro fondly.

"I'll be right back guys!"

And with that he had strolled down the Cafeteria to the empty stairwells where he knew he would find the fourth Punk, simply waiting.

* * *

The fourth Punk stood alone under the abandoned stairwells, away from all of the lunchtime hype in the cafeteria. Everyone in the school knew by now to stay the fuck away from his special hideout even the teachers stayed out of his way. He was smoking a cigarette in one hand, fiddling with his tangled mop of blonde hair with the other. He didn't really give two shits what it looked like anymore though. He sighed, taking another puff of his cancer stick. So far things were actually going pretty well for him. Of course, he had never expected that of all the idiotic students to come looking for him at the moment would be Stanley Marsh.

The raven-haired teen simply waved slightly as he got closer to the Punk, sliding next to him under the stairwells. This displeased the Punk, so he simply shoved Stan out and glared.

Slightly muffled and raspy from the abuse and disuse, the Punk gasped out at Stan, his words clearly pissed.

" 'the fuck do you..want Stan?"

Stan rolled his eyes, his expression no longer friendly.

"He speaks! Just to talk, jeeze. Personally, I'm sick of the bull that you and that damn group of yours puts us through. I thought better of you guys."

Stan shook his head, black bangs falling over his eyes slightly.

"Though I guess I was wrong, and now I have to take action. Stop with the bullshit, okay? I don't really care what the fuck you guys do to most of the kids in this hellhole, but keep this shit away from Kyle, Cartman and I. You understand?"

His tone was stern, but also not one of hate. It was nearly impossible to hate Stan when he talked to you like that. Fortunately for the Punk, he knew how Stan worked and could, in fact, hate him for it.

He scoffed a bit, but it came out as more like a wheeze.

"You dare…come to me like that?"

He stopped to breathe slightly, his voice not used to being used anymore. Unfortunately, his vocal cords were adapting all too quickly. He hated this, he'd have to fix it when he got home.

"After all that you did! You guys have abandoned me so many times that I can't even count them anymore!"

He snarled at Stan, the heat coming back to his dead pale face.

"I find it fair what we do to that fat fuck. Not like he ever gave a shit anyway."

He shrugged, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

"As for Kyle, hmph, got what he deserved I say."

He actually laughed at that, but his laugh was cut short when he was suddenly slammed against the back of the wall under the stairwell. He couldn't breath anymore; the air was being blocked by Stan's hand.

"Do NOT even say that about Kyle. If you would take one SECOND to look at the damage you and your friends caused him you'd be sorry."

The Punk spat in his face, giggling slightly as he lost more and more air.

"Choking me Stan?"

Stan growled at the Punk, wiping the spit off his face with his free hand.

"You are so dead, I could kill you right now."

He was startled by the response he received from the Punk though.

"Do it Stan…Kill me, you know you can."

Stan gripped the throat a bit tighter, staring wearily at the Punk.

"Maybe I should."

The Punk tried to laugh, but he couldn't grip enough air.

"Do it…be a murderer."

Stan glared at his captive again, his resolve was beginning to waver.

"N-no I wouldn't…You can't die Kenny…it doesn't matter."

Kenny McCormick actually managed to laugh that time. His face was turning blue, contrasting well with the dark black hoodie he wore. His icy blue eyes glared daggers at Stan.

This alone allowed for Stan's grip to loosen, just enough for Kenny to push out from his grip. He slammed his fist into Stan's nose, knowing in an instant it was broken. He reveled in the stench of his blood, loving every second of the anguished expression on Stan's face.

"Who the fuck do you think you are Stan? You think you can waltz over here and talk to me now? You don't have the right."

He sneered at Stan, lifting his face to stare at his. Leaning closer, he lapped up the blood dripping from Stan's nose.

"And for your information, every one of my deaths are real. Do you think I don't count because I come back to life? Well Stan, let me tell you that each death is long and painful, always. Each one is very real, and very scary."

He brushed the shaking Stan's hair out of his face absently before continuing.

"None of you gave a fuck though did you? A simple, 'Oh My God, You Killed Kenny!' and a 'You Bastards!' was all you needed to do for poor Kenny. He's such a poor piece of shit right? Not even worth mourning over for 5 SECONDS."

He glared at Stan, this time grabbing his hair, exposing his bloodied bandages covering his arms.

Stan softened, wincing in pain,

"Kenny, why are you doing this? We're sorry, we didn't realize. You know I still wish you'd come back."

He looked at Kenny, hopeful but crooked thanks to his new nose.

"You're still my friend Kenny and…"

He was cut off though by Kenny slamming a fist into his gut.

"Oh, and I suppose that friends attempt to murder each other Stan? No thanks, I like my life here."

He released Stan, walking over to the cigarette that had fallen from his hands. He placed it into his mouth, blowing out a puff of smoke.

Stan struggled up to his feet again, now clutching his stomach.

"Fine Ken, you don't have to come back. Just please tell your little buddies to knock it the fuck off. They need to leave Kyle alone, and Cartman too. We used to be friends Kenny, why can't we try again?"

Kenny smiled darkly at Stan.

"Heh, I don't owe you guys anything."

He checked his watch, noting the time.

"And for your information Stan…"

He pulled out a pure black revolver, aiming it at his own head. Stan looked on, wide eyed and shell shocked.

"…I was, and will never again, be your friend. Have fun Marsh."

With that, he pulled the trigger, splattering his brains all over the floor. Stan fell to the floor in shock; he was covering in blood, Kenny's blood. The revolver had landed right at his feet, Stan picked it up shakily and stared at it. Not long after, a long horrified scream burst from his lungs, right when the final bell rang, allowing people out of lunch and whatever classes they were in.

The pits of "Death" rolled through the halls, infecting each inhabitant with the nauseating stench.

* * *

Just an ordinary day in Park High.


End file.
